My exhausting anti-adrenaline campaign (Mount Reynolds)

If you don't already know, I have a love-hate relationship with heights.  I love them because they're where the mountains are, but I hate them because, well, they're scary.  This fear of heights is part of my ongoing saga with learning to ski and trying really hard to become more proficient at mountaineering.  It is also the thing that keeps me from being able to do all the cool climbs/scrambles/"hikes" off-trail that some of my friends do.  I am actively working on this fear while still recognizing that I basically lack the stomach and skill to do what I can do in my active imagination.  Even without those two things (stomach and skill), there are still attainable climbs in the Park. 

On Sunday my friends Tom (of bear bite fame), Amber and I climbed Mount Reynolds.  Based on my careful study of the bible of climbing in the Park (by J. Gordon Edwards) as well as the newer guide to climbing in the Park (Passmore), I determined that the easiest route up Reynolds was a route I could handle.  Nonetheless I was a tad nervous that it would actually be horrible.  Anticipatory fear is the worst enemy I have in these endeavors.


Danni and Amber near summit (photo by Tom)

Tom is pretty experienced climbing in the Park and thought my planned route might be too tame and suggested a route with significantly more exposure.  I temporarily agreed but nearly started crying out of sheer anticipatory terror.  I heeded my mantra of "be kind to yourself Danni" and insisted we do the "easy" route (Class II(3)). 

Danni, Amber and Tom

The route, once you leave the established trail, is still largely trail.  This is a very popular climb and a "social" trail is well worn nearly the entire way.  Further, there are rock cairns marking the route so it leaves little room for confusion or error.  There were so many people climbing that it would have been difficult to mess up even without the obvious path and cairns.  Don't tell my friend Brad that I didn't knock them all over as he instructed me to do.

photo by Tom

It wasn't easy, despite being easy relative to other climbs in the Park.  I got a tad nervous climbing the "scree slog" -- not rationally but I do not like the feeling of the earth sliding away from me as I try to ascend.  It all comes down to control and it takes some time to realize that you can, actually, control your footing more or less in scree.  It seems a lot like lacking control though and takes some getting used to.  It's not my first time in scree but this was sort of a refresher.

photo by Tom

This hike felt like a bit of a breakthrough since I quickly realized I was totally fine.  When we made it to the summit and I had no moments of terror at all, I was elated.  It is such a liberating feeling to not feel terror on an adventure that could, on the wrong day or with slightly different conditions, send adrenaline pulsing through my veins.  Adrenaline makes me want to vomit.  For real.  I hate it. 

It was smoky, thus it was slightly less than perfect view-wise.  Nonetheless, the views were pretty good.

Amber walks along the ledge

I am pretty darn proud of myself.  Slowly I will conquor my fear and be limited only by a rational evaluation of risk.  I'd rather my brain be in control.  Visceral responses are unsettling.  Again, it comes back to control.  I didn't realize I was such a control freak :-)

Amber and Tom lead the downclimb

It's all worth it to experience these amazing places with amazing friends.

Time to prepare for winter. Yeah, I said that.

I'm definitely not running the Bear 100 or doing any more races in 2012 that involve travel.  It's possible I'll run Le Grizz again for fun, but that depends on various factors.  Anyhow, my goal, odd as it might seem given how active I am (or, rather, appear to be based on my selective social-media sharing), is to just regain basic fitness.


Kent, Amber, me and Rhino in the Jewel Basin last Sunday

 I can hike many miles but I'm not really even in running shape anymore.  I've been really lazy during the work week and haven't been running.  I have, of course, been a glutton (big surprise) and have gained some weight.  I feel like garbage.


Mukwah and Rhino at Wildcat Lake

 Thus, starting yesterday, I'm just returning to running with an eye towards resuming lifting again and being substantially more mindful in my diet (especially, ahem, liquid calories).  All I want really is to return to my fitness level of last winter, which wasn't anything special but was good enough for me.  Allison just posted pictures from last winter on Facebook and the first thing I noticed was how much better I looked than I do now.  Not that's totally about vanity, but maybe some... anyhow, sort of a boring proclamation, especially coming from someone who pretty much always claims this goal, but it's just part of the yearly cycle of me (get fit, get fat, get fit, get fat...).     

When you run out of vacation time half way through the year...

heading up to Hyalite Peak

 You might have read my blog and thought: "does that woman ever go to work?"  Unfortunately, I suspect some of my co-workers ask themselves the same question and that is not really a good thing.  I was recently told, enthusiastically, by an employee that he admired me in particular because I, more than anyone, "work to live" rather than live to work.  The truth is that I am very work-oriented and don't find such comments to be compliments.  It's tells me that maybe I've been having a wee bit too much fun.  Or maybe just too visibly.  In any case my focus for the rest of the year is work.

the peak from the saddle pictured above

 Does that mean I can't have adventures?  OF COURSE NOT.  I had already blocked out the weekend for my annual hiking adventure with Grizzly Glacier Running Club friends, but with Deb breaking her ankle and everyone being insanely busy, the hike dissipated.  Allison was on her way home from Billings to Helena and I was in Bozeman for work, so after she refused to let me flake out and bail on the whole thing, we met up in Bozeman and hiked and camped and were merry.

Allison surveys the smoke

The initial plan was to do the Devil's Backbone course, which is an amazing 50 miler in the Gallatin Range.  I envisioned us doing half of it but we didn't have the vehicle support to shuttle or anything.  Plus, we had dinner with a dear client turned friend Friday night that continued on with olympic watching at the bar, so we got a somewhat late start in any case.  Thus, we started at the Hyalite Creek trailhead late morning with the goal of hiking about 20 miles.

heading out on the Devil's Backbone

We hiked up Hyalite Peak, the out a bit along the Devil's Backbone course before we began fixating on dinner and beer, which prompted a half-mile-early turn around.  We got in 19 miles of relaxed hiking and gorged on sushi before returning to the Hyalite Canyon to camp.  So to summarize, when you travel for work you can make it into a mini-vacation that makes you forget about the working part.  And hanging out with your client friends looks a lot like marketing.  There you go.

134 Miles of Glacier National Park

our route with the circles being where we stayed

I've been procrastinating doing a write up of the 134 mile backpacking trip I took last week since it's pretty difficult to discuss an entire week of awesome in a coherent and interesting manner.  Plus, it was more or less a week of the simple task of walking, eating, setting up camp and breaking down camp.  The  views were beautiful, the company was fabulous and it was everything I hoped for.  I had never done a trip that long (8 days/7 nights) but I feel like I can safely say I really enjoyed being out that long.  (I'm sure it helped that we had pretty good weather).  I may think of other things to say later, but for now I'll do a list of 10 things to tell you about my trip.

Dave, Amber, me and Meghan at Bowman Lake

1.   I wore the same shirt for the entire 8 days.  (Lululemon run swiftly short sleeve).  It held up well and had minimal stench and rinsed well and dried quickly.  I am a huge fan of that shirt.

looking up at Hole in the Wall

2. We spent a lot of time making stupid noises and singing silly songs but I never tired of any of it. I absolutely loved it each time Amber would say "bear bear bear bear" in a funny gruff but sing-songy way. I actually enjoyed every second of being with my friends.

below Stony Indian Pass

3. My pack ended up weighing 33 pounds with 2 L of water and all my food. It became lighter as the trip wore on of course. I used virtually everything that I brought except for some emergency safety stuff, which is fine, so very little seemed like "extra." To save weight in the future I think I'd need a lighter pack (mine was almost 4 pounds though I love it) and to carry less water (which is easy to do in GNP since there is water everywhere).  Speaking of weight, we jokingly called (and will call) our backpacking trip "fat camp."  However, I'm not sure I actually lost any weight.  Sad. :p

Meghan at Elizabeth Lake

4. After not brushing my hair for 8 days it seemed like it almost all fell out in the shower once I was home. I didn't completely realize that, like my dogs, we shed continually. Duh.

Enjoying a bit of a cheat in the middle of backpacking

5. Speaking of dogs, Rhino punctured and discharged and entire canister of bear spray promptly upon my return home. My dad likened it to popping open a bottle of champagne. An expensive one...

Amber and Meghan at Grinnell Lake (I think)

6. Piegan Pass is perhaps my new favorite in the Park. Stunning -- I think going up from the Many Glacier side (aka the "wrong" and "hard" way) is the way to go. Total Sound of Music territory. 

Meghan enjoying another pass success (Piegan Pass)

7. Two of our nights were in developed car camping areas so we got to enjoy a cheat break enjoying meals out and civilization. In the future, I will remember that we don't need that box of wine for camp after the beers with dinner. It makes for a less awesome next day. Just FYI.

Ready to get up Cut Bank Pass, now with Sonya in the mix!

8. It was fun to have the core posse of me, Meghan and Amber but have Dave hike the first few miles with us and my new friend Sonya join for a couple of days. Deb was supposed to meet us one day but unfortunately broke her ankle on the "Broken Leg" trail a few days earlier. Imagine that.

almost up Cut Bank Pass (Sonya, Amber and Meghan)

9.  I thought often of my friend Leslie who just started a thru hike on the Pacific Crest Trail.  I previously thought I wouldn't necessarily enjoy such an endeavor, but after this week and after meeting two CDT thru hikers I am more interested in the possibility.  Perhaps this is just because I'm now back at work and would love to be back out there.

Meghan and Sonya head towards Dawson Pass

10.  For the first time in a decade, I went the whole week (A WHOLE WEEK!!!) without checking email or voicemail or having any electronic connection to the outside world.  I did use a payphone to call Ted to verify pickup plans.  There is no cell access in the Park and perhaps this aspect of it was one of the best.  I tend to get pretty wrapped up in my job (not that my partners likely think so -- I think it seems to them like I do nothing but run and go on vacation) so it was nice to take a true breather.

That was 10 things.  Perhaps there will be more.  Perhaps not.  On the whole, I love backpacking.  To me this was an ideal vacation.  Next time I am making Ted go out with me for a week. 

Wandering with a slingshot

Some girlfriends and I camped in Glacier National Park this weekend with the full intention of doing a respectably challenging hike/climb.  (We camped at Two Medicine and figured we'd climb a peak of our collective choosing depending on what time we woke up).  Rainy conditions, however, promised a lack of views and slippery rock.  None of us were interested in a hike through thick clouds or looked forward to being soaked to the bone.  None of us are particularly delicate or fragile, but the disappointment of another dreary day (we have many around here) deflated all of us and left us feeling pretty ambivalent. 

Goofy girls

One of the waterfalls along the St. Mary's Falls trail (THE St. Mary's Falls?)

So, without any structure or agenda, we instead ate and drank our way through the Park, stopping for a short and busy/popular hike to St. Mary's Falls.  We had pie at the Park Cafe, ate and drank at the Belton Chalet, shot rocks into the middle fork of the Flathead River with a slingshot we picked up en route (we stayed on the non-Park portion of the bridge as slingshots are illegal in National Parks), listened to a terrible reggae band, slept in our cars and began the next day with a swim in a nearby lake (despite initially planning to drive home Saturday night).   

it cleared up that evening and was beautiful

There is something liberating about simply setting out with no plan to do anything other than to  enjoy the day.  We genuinely had ridiculous amounts of fun spending an entire weekend doing things none of us would have ever, in a million years, actually deliberately planned.  In fact, I  would never have planned to set out with no plan.  Perhaps the best adventures are those that wouldn't even sound fun if described ahead of time.  Spontaneity is the rabbit hole leading to unknowable possibilities.  That said, spontaneity is not really in my nature.  Perhaps I should work on this....           





I ran a marathon (the Missoula Marathon)

Since road races are all about stats and splits and such (from my little timing printout):


Time = 4:00:43.2

1st Half = 1:59:06.1

2nd Half = 2:01:37.1

AG Position (35-39) = 25 of 101

Gender Position (F) = 112 of 559

Overall = 382 of 1176

The Missoula Marathon is an excellent little marathon. Runners World magazine deemed it the best marathon in America a few years back I think. It's fairly small still but well organized and logistically uncomplicated. You are bussed to the start in Frenchtown and run back into downtown Missoula. It could be a PR course depending on the person -- there is one somewhat significant hill (for a road marathon) and has 200 feet of net gain (and Missoula is at 3200 feet, which could be enough to mildly impair someone's performance if they live at sea level). There is coffee at the race start and excellent food/drink at the finish (watermelon popsicles and free beer!). Admittedly, I do enjoy road running in addition to trail running, which makes me somewhat unusual among my trail running friends.

This was just a "for fun" race for me. I did San Juan 50 two weeks ago, pulled a hamstring last weekend trying to water ski and neither recovered nor tapered. I was slothful in the last couple of weeks but did 6 hours of ski touring Wednesday (though not at high intensity or anything) and went into the race not sure if I might have to drop out at my friends Kevin and Katie's aid station at mile 11ish with hamstring troubles. I had beer and wine the day/night before. After all, it was a mini-vacation/girls' weekend.

me and Allison, photo courtesy of Allison

I chose to take a lot of Advil during the race rather than drop out -- my hamstring started bothering me at mile 4. I knew this was stupid but sometimes I can't help myself. (My hamstring feels fine now though my lower back feels bruised, hopefully it's not my kidneys, ha ha ha). I had part of a Mimosa (which was totally delicious actually, yay Kevin!) at my friends' aid station and nearly achieved my arbitrary goal of a sub-4 hour finish. I think that if I had skipped the Mimosa I might have finished 44 seconds faster. Of course, if I had run slightly faster I could have achieved it as well... Ultimately, it's a big "who cares" though I'd rather have the "3" than the "4" in my finish time.

I am pleased with my nearly even splits and my finish time considering the heat, my lack of preparation and the fact that I was bloated and un-svelte on race day (to the tune of at least 5-7 pounds above my normal weight this month). I have previously mentioned my desire to do focused marathon training and try to run a PR/sub 3:30 marathon. So, this has me wondering how much work it would take to shave off 30 minutes by December (I think I'd consider CIM). I think if I really focused on the track, pace runs, tempo runs and all that stuff and took good care of myself I'd have a (slim) chance. That said, this was a reminder of how stressful marathons can be. I mean, having to constantly worry about every stupid split and having to keep running the WHOLE TIME! without getting to lollygag, walk, pig out at candy buffet tables and such is sort of less fun than ultras (or my approach to them anyhow). I'm just not sure if I can really rally to do the whole marathon training thing again. Ever. At the same time, it's sort of nice to do races where I can easily finish respectably instead of last, if at all, as in trail ultras (hmmm maybe if I took the same mental approach as I do in marathons I wouldn't be last?).

As of right now I am not signed up for anything at all for the rest of the year and am not sure what I want to do next, if anything, in terms of running. At present I am totally unmotivated to register for anything, therefore I am going to just be like a normal person and hike and enjoy the summer without an eye towards training for anything. (To the extent that I ever really train, ha). I wish I felt the desire to focus on something but nothing interests me right now. Undoubtedly something will catch my eye.

On Wussitude




photo credit -- Amber

 

I imagine I've mentioned this here before, but I have a visceral and definitely irrational (i.e. beyond that which is necessary for self-preservation) fear of heights.  Typically it comes on rather suddenly and involuntarily and makes the world stop for what seems like hours while I assess how I am going to extricate myself from whatever situation I've purposefully gotten myself into.   So, one might wonder, why I am so bound and determined to become more of a mountaineer on and off my skis when virtually every time I set out, no matter how mellow the adventure, I find myself slightly panicked at some point.




photo credit -- Amber

 

Take, for example, July 4, 2012.  Amber and I decided to return to Logan Pass in Glacier National Park for one more day of skiing.  We weren't entirely sure what we would do but climbing Mount Oberlin, the easiest climb in the Park, was on our list.  We started to approach from the saddle between Mount Oberlin and Mount Clements, but realized that the snow conditions weren't quite good enough to use skis and were sketchy enough to not make for a good route without skis.  We didn't really have time to complete our mission but thought we'd get up on the saddle and at least check out the views.  We were boot packing up the snow, which was fine actually, but for whatever reason I decided I would head over to a patch of scree and make my life easier.  The scree was sort of muddy and slick and the skis on my back caused some balance issues (and I was getting a little tired) and I had a freakout moment.  I couldn't go down the scree without falling and the snow close to the scree was thin and slippery -- not conducive to boot packing. 




photo credit - Amber

 

As you can see from this picture, above, the slope isn't actually that steep and you can see visually that I was probably not going to fall and tumble down the scree.  So why did I feel that way?  I am reminded of a hike I did last summer off trail and there's photographic evidence of me clinging to the cliff side while my friend Brad walked right beside me.  Yes people, there was enough room for two across and there I was acting like I was precariously balancing on a tightrope.  I wonder if people like me should, perhaps, stick to the ski slopes and trails.  The impaired ability to rationally assess actual risk is not compatible with this type of adventuring.




that is Amber

 Then I remember the freakout I had the first time I took the chair up Big Mountain to the summit and then my panic descending the easiest downhill route from the summit. Or, it seems that in just 2009 I was on the "magic carpet ride" and working on my pizza v. french fries.  I am now comfortable on the chair and find that route down quite easy and without challenge. I am convinced that experience will allow me to do more and more without getting that icky adrenaline rush and those deer-in-the-headlights moments of "oh no this is scary what am I going to do now?" And to be fair, on Wednesday I was fully aware that the worst case scenario if I slipped on the scree was that I would get a little bloodied on the rocks (or my skis on my pack) but would not likely go very far. So why this caused anxiety I do not know.

I envy people who do not experience this reaction to heights. I wonder how normal or abnormal this is? I wonder if some day I will be able to handle exposure without any adrenaline and with the type of calm confidence some of my friends, like Amber, consistently exhibit. I consistently debate whether I'm just punishing myself by continually putting myself in these situations or whether I am doing myself a favor by increasing my opportunities to go fun cool places in the great outdoors. I also wonder why I am so bent on engaging in this stuff -- though I think the answer is that my friends do it so obviously I want to as well.

If anyone out there is a reformed wuss, I'd love to hear how you have conquered your affliction.

A Summer Day in Montana

Around noon (ignore the poor form)

Around 9 p.m.

wouldn't want to be in that water though...

San Juan Solstice 50: A Beautiful Sufferfest

Finally heading above treeline in the morning

This weekend I travelled to Colorado with my super awesome friends Brad and Emily for the San Juan Solstice 50, which is a 50 mile race beginning in Lake City, Colorado through the San Juans.  The course sports around 13,000 feet of elevation gain and is entirely between 8500 and 13,000+ feet.  I knew this race would be challenging, but I feel like I basically trained for it. I mean, I got in some decent mileage and felt about as prepared as I get for races. I have done a race with comparable gain (Mt. Diablo 50) and finished under 16 hours in worse shape than I am now, so that was encouraging. I cannot, however, recall a time where I have ever tried to exert myself above 12,000 feet so that was the primary unknown.




Elevation profile

The race begins and ends in the park in downtown Lake City. The first few miles are on a gentle dirt road before jumping onto single track and heading up up and up to the top. The views that morning were nothing short of spectacular.  (Almost all these pictures are from the morning and don't necessarily correspond to most of this report.)  Anyhow, after about ten miles the course begins a long downhill descent that drops almost as low as the race began. I felt pretty good for the first 17 or so miles and ran downhill hard to make up for my poor climbing.  After the first major aid station that had drop-bags, however, the course heads up this interminable jeep road all the way back up to the top of the Continental Divide. Near the top of the Divide, there is a "townsite" (pic a ways down below) called Carson. After combatting heat and thin air to amble my way up there I couldn't imagine wanting to put anything up there much less mining and toiling and working up there. Nutty people.

 

Back to this never ending climb to Carson. It never ends. And it was hot. Eventually I rolled into the Carson aid station with 40 minutes before the cut-off (I think anyhow, unless my math was fuzzy) and collapsed into a chair and sat for probably too long (10 minutes) before continuing up to the tippy top of the Divide at 13,000+ feet. 

 

It was sort of shocking to me to get up there and see a maze of jeep roads, most of which appear to be open to motorized use.  It makes sense given the fact that people were mining up here not that long ago, but it was an odd sight. 

We made our way onto the Colorado Trail which, in that particular area, is largely driveable if you were so-inclined and it were legal (which I don't think it is on the actual Colorado Trail).

The terrain was perfectly runnable but I could do no better than probably 2 mph that high up. I felt pretty nauseous to be quite frank.

Adding insult to injury, the smoke from all the many Colorado fires rolled in, obscuring what I am sure were marvelous views. The only good thing was it was HOT and the smoke also obscured the sun and cooled things down a bit.

 

On the Divide I started getting passed by what seemed to be a lot of people. This lovely woman from Crested Butte tried to make conversation with me but with each exhaled word I felt a wave of nausea roll over me and my entire chest/sternum ached in protest. I loosened my pack completely to ease the restrictive feeling but there was only so much I was capable of doing up there.

 

Eventually the trail started winding down to the next aid station, I believe called "Divide" or some such. I felt absolutely spent. There were several people hanging out in the aid station and at that point my calories were entirely Mountain Dew calories. I think I was a little dehydrated because I couldn't chew/swallow food. Mountain Dew, which is gross, was my saviour.

 

 I took note of the sign telling me how far the next aid station was and the cut-off time. It was then 4:00 p.m. and I had 2 hours, until 6:00 p.m. to get to the next aid station 9 miles away.

Carson Townsite

I quickly headed out doing the math but unable to figure out what that pace would be. I am never very good at math anyhow, but math at 12,000 feet and 31 miles is even harder. I did know that when I do a run through my neighborhood, feeling fresh and on road, 9 miles takes me around an hour and a half. I decided to stop with trying to figure it out and just go.  Either I could do it or I would get pulled at the Slumgullion aid station at mile 40.

Up on the Continental Divide

  

 This segment was (thankfully) largely downhill so once we dropped below 12,000 feet and the air felt comparatively rich with oxygen I started running as hard as I could. I started passing some people who had long ago passed me, such as the Crested Butte chica. I approached this guy who seemed to be in a bad way and he told me he had given up. "There's no way we are going to make the cutoff" he said. I looked at my watch and saw we had about 5 miles to go and an hour to do so. "Don't give up!" I said and sprinted onward, miffed that this dude told me I couldn't do it. I sort of knew he was right but also viewed this as my meager opportunity to really race (in my own head that is). I was going to make the cut-off or collapse trying.

Smoke and Jeep Trails on the Continental Divide

I passed another guy who had earlier passed me and made an enthusiastic comment about how much better I looked. Feeling totally amped I sprinted down the super rocky steep road, practicing the downhill technique Emily told me about which involves just not worrying about falling and running fast (fast being relative of course).

Smoky on the Divide

I made it to the aid station with 3 minutes to spare. They filled my water and I took off, confident that I could cover the remaining 10 miles in 3 hours.  I knew roughly 6 of those miles were downhill or at least not uphill.  Or at least I thought I remembered that, I wasn't too sure.  My Garmin died by that point so I would just have to keep moving and hope for the best.  The next six miles was on a private ranch (Vickers' Ranch) and involved a climb through a beautiful huge Aspen grove.  It was super hard though and it was hot and I basically wanted to lay down and give up.  I would take a few steps, stop, whine to myself, feel nauseous and repeat.  It was pretty horrible, and in hindsight I wish I had a Garmin to remind me to keep a move on.  This is where I really probably messed up my race but I really felt incredibly bad.  This went on for what felt like forever and to make it worse, the course sweeps caught me and were on my heels with the clanking of the trail markers reminding me that I was the pathetic slow person the sweeps have to stay behind and probably wish they could pass.  They seemed really nice though.  I wish I felt better because I essentially looked at them in disgust and turned up my music to pretend they weren't there.  I finally began the descent and rolled into the last aid station where I was told I had an hour to go 4 miles.  No problem.


Yeah I was slow.  And 13,311 feet is high for me.  This is basically the last picture I take during the race, which given how snap happy I typically am should tell you something...

I felt like I sprinted all the downhill to the finish and either it wasn't quite an hour, was more like 5 miles or I was just slower than I thought (most likely) but I finished 12-15 minutes after the 16 hour cutoff.  Thus, I am an unofficial finisher, which is basically meaningless to me at this point.  I finished.  They kept the finish open, the timeclock going and Brad and Emily were there smiling and waiting for me with cold IPA.  

Brad and Emily at Royal Gorge en route back to Colorado Springs, trying to steal of view without
paying $25 each (ripoff)

On the whole, it was a fantastic weekend.  Hanging out with good friends on vacation is pretty awesome.  I ate a lot of junk food, drank some beer and had a great time.  Not an impressive finish time but I'm pleased with myself for making it across the finish line, even if it was practically hand-in-hand with the sweeps and I was the last racer to cross the finish line.  It was a tough race, and I am not a fast person.  That combination makes it ok to me that I barely eeked out an unofficial finish.  
 
P.S.  Emily did awesome finishing in 11 hours something, 4th woman overall and Brad finished in 13 hours, which was good considering he was not at all rested.  Also, I should note that this race is incredibly well organized with top notch volunteers.  I highly recommend it, especially if you like to suffer.